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Kol Livingston believes in the so-called fairy tales, the clichés—love at first sight, soul mates, and happily-ever-afters. He wants it all, but after a series of failed relationships, he’s beginning to think he’ll never meet Prince Charming. He loves his job at Blackhaven Manor, but with all the gorgeous paranormals strutting around the hotel, why would anyone choose him?
When cheetah shifter and infamous bad boy, Remington Raines, is asked to perform for the Heritage Festival at Blackhaven Manor, he can’t say no. Literally. Still, an all-expenses-paid vacation from tour buses and screaming fans might be just what he needs. Falling for the quirky concierge with big, brown eyes and a smile that melts him, however, wasn’t part of the plan.
He’s used to people—men, women, supernatural and human—throwing themselves at him, but Kol doesn’t care about his fame or his money. He’s been hurt, and he’s not about to give his heart to just anyone.
Image is everything, but if Remington wants to win over this jaded human, he’ll have to dig deep and show Kol the man behind the reputation.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Kol backpedaled when Remington took a step toward him. “Yes, of course,” he said, inching around the other side of the sofa as he did up the buttons on his shirt. He frowned when the shifter followed. “What are you doing?”
He wasn’t afraid, and he had no reason to think the guy would hurt him. That didn’t stop his pulse from racing or his hands from shaking, though. Damn it, nobody had any right to look that good, especially when Kol was dripping wet and about nine shades of embarrassed.
“I just wanted to make sure that you—”
“I said I’m fine,” Kol snapped, then instantly regretted it. Taking a deep breath, he held it for a count of three before releasing it slowly. “Thank you for your concern, but I assure you, I’m not hurt. I should be getting back to my duties. If there is anything else you need to make your stay more enjoyable, just ring the front desk and ask for Kol.”
“Kol.” Remington bobbed his head as he said it, his smooth, deep voice wrapping around it like a caress. “It suits you.”
Since Kol had no idea what to say to that, he just dipped his head and moved closer to the exit.
“Actually,” Remington said, stopping him before he could make his exit, “could you do something about the candles and roses?”
Pausing with his hand on the frame of the open door, Kol glanced around the room, his brow furrowed, and his lips tugging down at the corners. “Would you prefer something different?”
“I’d prefer it if they were gone.” The shifter tucked two knuckles under his nose and sniffed. “It’s a little overwhelming.”
Wet, cold, and confused, Kol’s patience had reached its limit. “Then why did you request them?”
Remington arched an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.” Great, now he sounded like a fucking toddler. He cleared his throat and tried to explain in a politer, more mature tone. “I was informed that the guests for the Orion Suite had several requests, including a precise number of vanilla-scented candles and exactly sixty-three white roses.”
Remington’s eyebrow quirked even higher, disappearing into his side-swept fringe. “I don’t know who told you that, but I assure you I didn’t request any of this.”
Great. Just freaking great. He’d nearly set himself—along with the entire room—on fire for nothing. “I apologize for the mix-up, and I’ll see that they’re removed right away.” He tried to rein in his temper and smile, but really, it felt more like a baring of teeth than anything remotely friendly.
“Will there be anything else?”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Kol nodded once. “The hotel has several excellent restaurants. Do you have a preference?”
“Nope.” Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his faded, ripped jeans, Remington shrugged. “Whatever you think I’ll like best.”
He would want somewhere private, probably with low lighting so he wouldn’t be recognized. Cheetah shifter, so probably not a vegan, but fastidious about cleanliness and order.
“Will seven o’clock at Matchstick work?” He smiled a little more naturally when Remington indicated that it would. “Someone will call to confirm your reservation. I’m assuming a table for two?”
The guest list indicated the suite held a double occupancy for the duration of the stay. Kol didn’t know Ruger Raines, but if he went by context clues, he had to guess the man was related to Remington in some way. Maybe a brother. Possibly a cousin.
The shifter arched an eyebrow and gave him a disarming smile. “I guess that depends.”
“On?” He clenched the doorframe more tightly and tried to ignore the way that lopsided grin made his stomach do cartwheels.
Remington took another step toward him, his lips parting wider to reveal dazzling white teeth with extended canines. “What time do you get off work?”